The Long Road Home
by Fairly Odd New Yorker
Summary: ONE-SHOT. Amelia Cackle wonders about the relationship between two of her colleagues as they head back to Cackle's Academy. Lightly-implied femslash but could seriously be more of a friendship fic than anything else.


**(A/N)**- ONE-SHOT. ONE-SHOT. ONE-SHOT. Please, do not guilt me into continuing, this will be left as is, any unanswered questions about it are to be left to your own assumptions. :) Also, apologies for the stupid title. Other fanfics with stupid titles are going to be continued ASAP - classes are just ... suchapain. Enjoy!

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><p><strong>-The Long Road Home-<strong>

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><p>Amelia Cackle opened her tired eyes as the carriage hit a bump, her gaze immediately settling upon the two teachers across from her.<p>

Constance Hardbroom sat upright and rigid as usual, her weariness only apparent in her deep brown eyes as she watched the passing scenery. Imogen Drill was slumped next to her, having long surrendered to sleep, her head rocking slightly as they bumped along the dirt road. Sometime in her slumber, she'd wound up leaning her head against Constance's shoulder. Amelia was surprised that Constance hadn't shoved her off, but then again, considering what she'd gone through today to keep her ...

Another bump in the road caused Amelia to knock her elbow, and she winced slightly. She would've loved to have flown back, but as they'd already come via carriage, (thanks to Frank Blossom who decided to be their chauffeur for the day, having borrowed a horse from a friend in town) not to mention they were all very exhausted from the trial and the two hours it had taken them to get there, they really had no choice to return to Cackle's in what they'd come in.

The carriage was property of Cackle's Academy, sturdy enough though it hadn't been used in years and there was much needed work that needed to be done to it, particularly on the inside - the cushions had worn down quite a bit and the curtains appeared to have been eaten by moths.

As she looked despairingly around at the state of their vehicle, Amelia felt someone watching her and she looked up to meet Constance's watchful stare. Her eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and protectiveness, and she pretended to take no notice of the non-witch snuggled up at her side, as if it was such an ordinary occurrence that need not be addressed.

"Did you not even try to sleep?"

The potions mistress allowed a weak smile to grace her features, her eyes softening, "I'll try for a nap once we're back at the school." She soon added in slight disgust, "That's if it hasn't already burned to the ground."

"I'm sure it hasn't," the elder witch brushed off, though doubt had begun to crawl into her mind ... she shook her head slightly to banish the thought. She'd left the school under the supervision of Miss Crochet and Miss Lamplighter, who'd been in town and agreed to do a last minute favor. Miss Hardbroom, who had previously been so oddly entranced by the art teacher, barely acknowledged her presence as they hurried out of the castle earlier this morning.

Now that it was all over, Constance seemed happier somehow, though her face remained expressionless as usual. Perhaps it was just the evening sun on her pale face, but she seemed to be glowing. She turned her head slightly and snuck a glance at the sleeping sports mistress, and with a deep sigh she looked out the window again.

"How much longer do you think it will be?" Constance asked, beginning to feel rather restless.

"I'm very proud of how you, Constance," Amelia said finally. She'd been wanting to say it ever since they left OfWitch.

Constance raised a brow in amusement, pretending for a moment to not have heard her, "That wasn't an answer to my question ..."

"I mean it, Constance." Amelia said seriously, "I couldn't have fought for her even half as hard as you did ..." The deputy head's brown eyes fell upon the blonde once more as Amelia spoke, "And all this time I thought you wished the opposite of her ..."

"She may not be a witch, but she is a part of this family," Constance replied firmly, tearing her eyes away from the sleeping woman to meet Amelia's eyes with a faint smile.

"Mistress Broomhead deserved what was coming to her," Amelia said, and was surprised to see that her colleague didn't flinch the slightest when she mentioned the terrible witch's name, "I'm sure there were bigger problems in the world that needed to be dealt with, she had no right ..."

"She found what she thought to be a problem, and she addressed it. That's how she is; in her mind, it will never be _her_ that's the problem, it's always something else ..." her eyes drifted unintentionally to the non-witch as she said these words, and Amelia's gaze followed.

"Should we wake her?" Amelia asked, peering over her horn-rimmed spectacles.

"How much longer is it?" Constance murmured as she watched over the younger woman.

Amelia leaned to the side, pressing her forehead against the cool glass of the window as she took in their surroundings, "We're almost there. Halfway down the lane, should be reaching the school in about ten minutes time."

"Let her sleep then," she dismissed, carefully folding her arms against her middle as she tried not to wake her.

Amelia knew it was common for witches to ... well, _be_ with other witches. It was a fact of life that was ever present in the history of witchcraft, just as it was common for wizards to prefer the company of other wizards. As of late it had been something those in OfWitch frowned upon for it meant there was less of a chance for couples to have children, and this meant the magickal community would only continue to get smaller and smaller, and it was small enough as it is.

She'd often wondered about Constance and Imogen, if they might have been ... or might still be, _together_. She knew it wasn't her business to know, and she wouldn't have minded if they were, but still ... if they were together, they were certainly an odd couple. She'd never thought she'd see a non-witch and a witch getting along too well, magick always seemed to be the ever-present force that divided them ... she was surprised to see someone so proficient in magic and so set in her traditional ways as Constance Hardbroom was, stand up and argue in front of at least fifty or so representatives of the magickal government and explain why this seemingly useless non-witch should be allowed to continue teaching at an all-witch school.

They hit a rather large bump in the road, and the rickety old covered-carriage made a nasty shake, throwing the non-witch out of sleep. Instinctively, she grasped the witch's arm beside her, forcing her sleepy eyes awake.

"Where are we?" she mumbled groggily.

"Almost there," Constance replied gently, brushing her fingers over hers in a reassuring manner.

Imogen, half-asleep and half-aware, removed her hand and ran it through her short blonde hair with a sleepy groan before returning to the spot she'd been in this whole time, nuzzling against the witch's shoulder once more, only this time she rested her hand in the crook of her arm.

Constance seemed a little embarrassed by this, and she looked fearfully to Amelia, her blood red lips pursed tightly as she wished so much to be able to read what was possibly going on inside her headmistress's head at the sight of such affection.

Amelia Cackle smiled warmly back at her deputy, and politely averted her eyes to the road outside.

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><p><strong>(AN)**- So? What did you think? Please review, even though it's just a one-shot, I need a pick me up.


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